


Strain & Release

by amazinmango



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, Angsty Schmoop, Drabble Collection, M/M, schmoopy schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 07:16:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amazinmango/pseuds/amazinmango
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur pushes and Eames pushes. They hold on and they let go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strain & Release

Eames grunts, and pushes harder.

“Shit,” Arthur says, jaw clenching tight.

“Sorry,” Eames says, leaning.

“Motherfucker,” Arthur snarls. “Harder.”

“M’trying,” Eames says, and he  _leans,_  but Arthur makes a pained noise.

“Christ, just—”

“Sorry,” Eames says again, starting to move back.

“No, don’t—”

Eames shoves.

 _“Fuck!”_  Arthur yells, and then he slumps.

“Arthur,” Eames says, off of him now, patting him all over. “Arthur.”

Arthur groans, and then he blinks. “Oh, god,” he says.

“You okay? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fucking. Ow.”

”I’ll get some ice, okay?” Eames starts to move away, and then he puts a very careful hand on the roundness of Arthur’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, love.”

“Go get the ice,” Arthur says, around the tears in his eyes and the pain in his jaw and the sick relief in the joint of his aching shoulder.

\- -

Eames cries out.

“Shut up,” Arthur says, when Eames grits out a new epithet. “Seriously. You sound like a child.”

“Says the man who is busy shoving—oh  _fuck_  you very much, Arthur.”

“I mean it,” Arthur growls, gripping too hard. “Don’t fucking move.”

“Easy for you to—” Eames screws his whole face up and makes a strangled groaning noise, and then he gasps.

“Easy,” Arthur says, maybe unconsciously, eyes focused. One more jerk, a rush of hot fluid, and Eames shudders.

“You wanna keep this?” Arthur says, holding up the squashed remnant of what was once a bullet.

Eames’ watering eyes focus and then go blurry on the little piece of metal in Arthur’s bloodied fingers. “You give me the most thoughtful gifts,” Eames says, and then he passes out.

\- -

“Oh,” Eames says.

“Yeah?” Arthur grunts.

“Uh huh,” Eames says, eyes rolling.

“Nnh,” Arthur says.

“Right—like—”

“Yeah—”

“Oh, that, oh,  _oh,”_  Eames says, spilling over his stomach.

“Shit,” Arthur whispers, slumping forward, rolling his hips twice more before he stills.

“Arthur?” Eames says, once he’s got his breath back. His knees are sweaty over Arthur’s slack elbows and he thinks Arthur might be drooling on him. “Arthur?”

Arthur snores.

“Really?” Eames says.

\- -

“No, god,” Arthur says, and Eames can hear the tears.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Eames says. “I wish we had more time.”

“Just get it over with,” Arthur says, his other hand digging into his own leg, squeezing.

Eames shoves, there’s a crunch, and Arthur whites out for a moment. Eames is shaking him hard, and Arthur bats at him, weakly.

“Fuck off,” he says, and Eames gives him a manic, apologetic grin before slapping a gun into Arthur’s sweaty hand.

“C’mon,” Eames says, and Arthur grunts as he pushes off the wall to follow.

\- -

Arthur tugs, but it’s not working.

He pulls, trying not to go too far, and it’s still not working.

He closes his eyes and tries to just go by feel.

It doesn’t work.

“I can’t,” he says, and Eames calls from the bathroom.

“Sure you can.” Arthur can hear the splash of water. “I have faith in you.”

“No, I—” Arthur pulls too hard, and there’s a pop. “Shit.”

Eames comes into the room, and looks at the button Arthur’s holding in his fingers.

Arthur feels his cheeks heat, and doesn’t want to look up at Eames’ face, but when he does there’s only gentle eyes.

“Here,” Eames says. “Take that off and I’ll get it fixed for you, right as rain.”

Arthur allows himself to smile.

Only after Eames has turned his back, waistcoat in hand, of course.

\- -

“Ouch,” Arthur says, only it’s muffled.

“Sorry,” Eames says, loosening his fingers.

Arthur moves back. “It’s fine,” he says, and when Eames looks down at him his eyes are dark, so Eames believes him.

“Get back to it, then,” he says, tugging at Arthur’s hair.

Arthur gives him a sharp grin before he relaxes his neck and shoulders and then his throat, and Eames groans.

\- -

“I’m sorry,” Eames says, rolling his hands, trying to be gentle.

“Don’t be,” Arthur says. “Push harder. Not a lot, just—yeah, keep it about there.”

Eames doesn’t say anything, just pushes harder. Arthur’s shoulder always gives him trouble, after two dislocations and one poorly-performed relocation in the midst of a running gunfight.

“I’ll get the ice later,” Eames promises.

\- -

“Eames,” Arthur says.

Eames doesn’t say anything, but he helps Arthur stay steady.

“Eames,” Arthur says, “Eames.”

Eames’ fingers go tighter, and Arthur snaps his hips. “Eames.”

“I see you, love,” Eames says, voice strained.

“Eames,  _Eames,”_  Arthur says, and then he gasps.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Eames says, hands warm on his thighs, smoothing his palms over Arthur’s skin.

Arthur braces his hands on Eames’ chest, feeling his heartbeat under one of them, a tattoo under the other.

Eames stares up at him, and Arthur can’t look at his face so he looks at the mess he’s left on Eames’ stomach.

“Shh,” Eames says, nonsensically, but it makes Arthur’s eyes flick up and catch on the crooked teeth in Eames’ goofy little smile.

\- -

“So,” Eames says, and leaves it there.

“Yeah,” Arthur says, not answering anything.

Eames purses his lips. “I.”

“What,” Arthur says, voice flat.

“I don’t know that this is working,” Eames says lamely. He’s not even looking at Arthur.

“Fine,” Arthur says, and then there’s the slap of a door shutting the way that hotel doors do, and then there’s quiet.

Eames lets out a shuddering breath.

\- -

There’s paisley in his suitcase.

A tie that isn’t his.

Arthur’s fingers clench in it, putting the silk into fierce creases.

He lets go, and the tie’s still there, in his hand.

He exhales.

\- -

“You two know each other?”

“We’ve had the pleasure of working together, yes,” Eames says, staring hard at Arthur, speaking to the chemist.

There’s a beat when Arthur says nothing, and the chemist says “Right. If you would—thank you.”

Arthur settles in next to Eames’ chair, presses the button, and watches Eames’ face go slack.

\- -

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“So.”

“Madrid.”

“It. It went well enough.”

“…yeah. Yeah, it did.”

“Perhaps, perhaps we could, that is. If you’re free, available in the next—”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Eames.”

“Oh.”

“I. I’m sorry.”

“Right.”

Arthur listens to the static on the line long after Eames hangs up.

\- -

“So…”

“So what.”

There’s a pause.

A sigh.

“Eames,” Arthur says, impatient.

“Sorry,” Eames says, and hangs up.

Eames’ voice is softer than Arthur remembers.

\- -

There’s lots of noise, shouting. Gunfire. Ricochets. The concussive rumble of an explosion, not the kick.

When it’s over, and there’s still time on the clock, Eames puts his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, the right one, without even thinking before he does it.

Arthur looks at Eames’ hand, and then at Eames.

He nods, once.

Eames blinks, squeezes, and lets go.

He feels Arthur watch him walk away.

\- -

“You knew this would happen,” Eames says. Arthur’s hands are at his belt.

“I didn’t,” Arthur lies. Eames works on his innumerable buttons.

“We’re not even drunk,” Eames says, as Arthur yanks his shirt open.

“Don’t need to be,” Arthur says, and Eames stills at the same time he does.

“We don’t,” Eames says, half-question.

Arthur looks at his mouth, and then his eyes. “No,” he says, and draws closer.

Eames should be quiet. He should.

He can’t.

“Remember what happened when you drank all that champagne—”

“That was  _one_  time—”

“You drooled on me.”

“Shut up,” Arthur mutters, mashing their lips together, and Eames does.

\- -

“So,” Eames says, looking at him sideways.

“So,” Arthur says, not quite flat.

Eames keeps looking.

“What,” Arthur says.

Eames reaches for Arthur’s wrist, and when Arthur lets him he takes it.

Turns it.

Opens his fingers and drops something in his hand.

Arthur looks. Warm metal, round.

“…I’ll think about it,” he says, and Eames grins like an idiot, like he’s said something else entirely.

\- -

“So,” Arthur says, making Eames look at him.

“Yes?” Eames says, and when Arthur reaches for him he’s already holding out his hand like the cheeky fucker he is.

Arthur’s not smirking when he drops the ring into Eames’ palm.

He’s not.

“Yes?” Eames says.

And Arthur, Arthur says yes.


End file.
